


no longer an option

by boywonder



Category: Peter Darling - Austin Chant
Genre: Canon Trans Character, Future Fic, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 14:52:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16348790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boywonder/pseuds/boywonder
Summary: Peter and James take a trip and find a reminder that time didn't mean anything in Neverland.





	no longer an option

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wishandripen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishandripen/gifts).



Peter fussed at his collar, staring darkly into the mirror as he did so. He found most clothes so _confining_ ; he'd gotten used to wearing hardly anything, wandering down by the lake and in the woods. And of course, in Neverland, he'd worn...

He shoved that thought angrily back down and pulled the tie off for at least the third time that morning. He threw it on the floor and stormed out of the bedroom, hardly even noticing James leaning against the wall in the hallway, waiting for him. Peter and his bad mood filled the hallway, but James was used to these temper tantrums. Peter was different here, yes, but he was still prone to moodiness and anger. 

"Do you want help with that tie?" James asked, startling Peter.

The young man whirled on him, several emotions flashing across his face. James could pinpoint the exact moment that Peter decided on cruelty, but he didn't quite have time to steel himself properly.

"I can't do it with _two_ hands," Peter snarled, "so what makes you think you can do it with one?"

James glared down at him. He was used to these moods, yes, but he rarely put up with being a target of whatever was under Peter's skin. He could handle Peter's still-boyish cruelty if he'd earned it, but he refused to be a casualty in Peter's ongoing emotional war. That wasn't the deal. Keeping the peace, however, was sometimes more important. One of them had to act like an adult, after all, and it was always up to James to do that.

James didn't answer, grinding his teeth to avoid getting in an argument. They were already late. He knew what was bothering Peter, and accepted it, but this had gone on long enough. He stalked past the boy, back into the bathroom, and retrieved the discarded tie. He came back to Peter, still sulking in a moody thundercloud in the hall. He expected to be met with resistance, or at least more fiery words. But Peter stood there, tense and still, like a deer frozen as a hunter approached, _considering_ running but not quite finding the legs to do it. He stayed while James tied the tie around his neck like it was second nature.

"I've had _years_ of practise at this," James said, icily. "I could do it _blind_ and one-handed. You, on the other hand, refuse to have the patience to learn."

Peter did jerk away from him then, taking an exaggerated step backward and pretending there was something the matter with the top button of his vest.

James forced himself to calm, at least somewhat. Letting Peter pick a fight wouldn't serve either of them. He followed Peter, reaching out to tuck the tie in place.

"It's fine, love."

"No it isn't," Peter said, but the bite was gone from his words. He sounded more worried than angry, which James supposed had been the problem the whole time. "What if they see me as a girl anyway?"

"It doesn't matter what anyone thinks," James said, "though I'll reattach the hook and fight anyone who calls you anything you don't want to be called, if you like."

Peter snorted and rolled his eyes. "Somehow I don't think anyone in London would appreciate Captain Hook fighting them over misperceptions," he said.

James pressed his lips together. "Don't do that," he said, simply.

"You started it," Peter said, immediately.

The parts of them that were Peter Pan and Captain Hook remained somewhat at odds. Peter liked it that way, or so he said. James liked it too, though he tried harder to convince himself otherwise. That was yet another thing to argue about later, though.

"Come on. We have a train to catch, and you've spent enough time on that bloody tie," he said.

Peter made a face, and James saw Pan's mockery in that expression, despite trying not to. He didn't point it out, and it passed. He offered Peter his hand. Peter considered it for a long moment before he finally accepted it. James closed his hand over Peter's noticeably smaller one and led him to the door.

* * *

The train ride was uneventful. James sat across from Peter, watching the younger man try not to fuss with his clothes. He tried to engage Peter in either conversation or in seeing some of the sights out the train window, but Peter would have none of it. Eventually, James settled on reading a newspaper and leaving Peter to sit with his thoughts.

The platform where they alighted from the train was very different from the one at the start of the journey; here was the hustle and bustle of London, and not the quiet, sleepy station they’d started from. It had been a long time since James had been around so many people at one time, but he wasn’t nervous for himself. Peter, of course, had grown up in London, and while he should have been used to it, he was still on edge, looking like he was going to run at any moment.

James didn’t dare take his hand again, not here. But he took a step closer and let his hand just brush against Peter’s, hoping it would be steadying. Peter looked up at him, sharply, but recognition settled onto his face and he relaxed, at least slightly.

They went to the market, as James had promised. He bought art supplies, more journals for Peter (who didn’t bother thanking him this time), and some treats that were harder to get back home. He let Peter set the pace after that. No one had looked twice at him, and no one had seen him as a woman. James, who had seen him naked, still didn’t really understand how anyone _could_. Of course, James had known him first, years ago, as a boy who used magic to shape the world around him (even if he hadn’t realised he was doing it). Whatever his body looked like here in the “real” world was irrelevant. They had both been different in Neverland, hadn’t they?

Peter hadn’t told James where they were going as they wandered away from the busier streets and into the park. It was busy there, too, with couples walking, mothers and nannies out with babies and young children, older children playing loudly, and the sound of horses’ hooves passing along the paths or in the nearby streets.

“It’s different,” Peter said. It was the first time he’d spoken in awhile.

“Time passes,” James said, nodding. He hadn’t yet asked Peter how long it had been. He wasn’t sure Peter even _knew_. To be honest, James wasn’t entirely sure how long _he’d_ been gone from this world, and he’d been in Neverland longer than Peter had; he’d been there since the first time Peter Pan appeared to shape the world in his image. It had been ages, though James no longer remembered the year he’d left. London, a place he’d only seen a few times, seemed almost foreign to him. It was still _familiar_ to Peter, at least, but that wasn’t much comfort.

Peter stopped and watched a woman pushing her baby along in a pram. James, of course, knew at least some of the stories Peter had told, long ago now, about the Lost Boys and their origins. Then, Peter hadn’t known how much of it was real and how much of it wasn’t. Now he knew the truth, but that didn’t change much about his heart. His heart was still that of a boy, wild and unpredictable and free, and angry at the parents who he had said abandoned him. James supposed they _had_ , at that. They’d refused to see their son as who he was, and Peter had responded by leaving not just them, but the entire world behind.

James put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. He could feel how tense Peter was, which maybe wasn’t saying much, because he’d been keyed up all day. “Love,” he said, softly.

Peter was still for another moment, watching the woman walk away. Finally, he reached up and put his own hand over James’s.

“I think it’s been a long time,” he said, enigmatically. James didn’t answer.

Peter shook him off and started walking again, turning on his heel and heading out of the park. James followed a few steps behind.

Eventually, they ended up in front of a large row house. There were houses just like it lining the block. It seemed every house had the same sort of tree out front, with the leaves just beginning to turn. The weather was miraculously clear for late summer, but as the day drew in, the coming chill was evident. This street was peaceful, with few people out walking now. Peter stood outside the gate and looked up at one of the windows — the only window open. James found that open window a bit curious, but Peter didn’t seem to.

A curtain moved in the downstairs window, and a face peered out, followed by another.

Peter, struck with a sense of déjà vu seeing those faces, could only stare back for a moment.

James imagined what it must look like to these well-off children, to see two men staring at them, one barely more than a boy, with wild hair and the hint of Peter Pan’s fierceness lingering on his too-soft features, and one with long hair and only one hand, sleeve pinned up so it wouldn’t drag or be in the way. He wondered if he had any of Hook in his features, the way Peter still held Pan’s. He wasn’t sure if he hoped the answer was yes or no.

Another face appeared for a moment behind the children, following them to see what they were looking at. The man was only there for a moment, just long enough to see Peter and James standing there on the other side of the gate. He disappeared, and the children went with him, leaving the curtain to swing almost abruptly back into place.

Peter shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers and spun around suddenly. “I want to go home,” he announced, ready to storm on past James back towards the main street.

Before James could react, the door of the house opened, and the man who had appeared in the window emerged from it. The children weren’t with him.

He took a few quick steps, hand already out to unlatch the gate. James was already turning, though whether he intended to stop Peter or urge him on faster, even he wasn’t sure yet. 

“Wen...Peter?” the man called. 

Peter stopped so abruptly that James almost ran into him. He turned back around, slowly, though James was there to block his view of the house and the man.

“Are you sure?” James asked, softly, ignoring the sound of the gate opening behind him.

Peter swallowed, once, then looked up at James. “Of course I am,” he said, sounding anything but.

James had, of course, recognised Peter’s features mirrored in the man who had come to the window. The man was older, closer to James’s own age than to Peter’s, but they had the same eyes, the same mouth made for smiling too widely, the same straight nose.

James stepped aside, pivoting to let Peter pass him to greet his brother.

“John,” Peter said, tentatively. James heard him do that thing with his voice that he did with other people, speaking as low as he could manage without sounding strange. He was never self-conscious of that when they were alone, but he went out of his way to prove to others that he was a man, even if he shouldn’t have had to.

John’s face broke into a relieved grin. “My god, it _is_ you. I thought it couldn’t possibly be, not after all this time!”

He rushed toward Peter and drew him into a hug. Peter looked like he would fly away if he could, but of course those days were over. He didn’t return the embrace, though. John let him go again after a long moment, though he kept his hands on Peter’s shoulders, as if he was afraid that Peter might disappear or run away.

John’s eyes searched Peter’s face. “Where have you been? We looked for you, you know. Michael and I did. And Mother and Father, they —”

Peter shook himself, pushing John off of him. “I don’t want to hear anything about them,” Peter said, in the same tone he usually had to throw scathing remarks at James, “and we should leave before they return.”

John registered the word “we” long enough to look at James, warily. He didn’t acknowledge him more than that for the moment, though, instead, looking back at Peter. “They...they won’t be coming back. Father has been dead for years, you know, and Mother...she lives with a nurse, not far away. She doesn’t come back here.”

Peter looked shocked by this. For the first time, the fact that it had been years since he’d been home actually dawned on him. He looked at John as if really seeing him for the first time. John had a beard now, trimmed and fashionable. One or two silver hairs threaded their way in between the darker ones. More than a few silver hairs sat at his temples, though, and there were lines starting at the corners of his eyes.

Peter had never asked James’s age, and James likely wouldn’t have told him. But now, he asked, “John. How old are you?”

John looked puzzled by this question. “Forty-one this year,” he answered, slowly. “The children you saw are mine. My wife is out at her sister’s. She’ll be back this evening, if you want to meet her —”

“ _No_ ,” Peter said, though whether he was just refusing John’s invitation, or whether there was some other meaning, it wasn’t clear.

John glanced up at James again, and opened his mouth to ask a question. Peter, however, interrupted him with, “Where’s Michael?”

John’s eyes slid away from James and back to Peter. “He lives with his own wife in York. We see each other at holidays. They’ve a child of their own, you know.”

“Of course I don’t _know_ ,” Peter said, childishly.

James, for his part, had never asked Peter how old he was, either. He was older than he’d been when they’d first met, many years ago. He was a man grown, though shorter than he wanted to be (a fact he lamented out loud only sometimes, but James could hear his anguish in those complaints). But here was his middle-aged _younger brother_. James hoped John had the sense not to ask Peter questions about time. Even if Peter could answer, it wasn’t terribly likely that he’d tell the truth.

John once again looked up at James, and this time Peter’s gaze followed his brother’s. 

“This is James,” Peter answered, not offering James’s last name, or anything else about him.

James offered his hand to John. John accepted the handshake with only a moment’s hesitation. “John, isn’t it? A pleasure,” James said, and even though he hadn’t meant it to, he heard Hook’s cadence break through his words.

John looked at the pinned sleeve, and something like recognition hit him as he drew his hand back. He looked between the two of them, the former pirate and the former lost boy, trying to find any way to make sense of them.

“Will you at least come inside for some tea?” John asked, holding on to manners when he could find little else to hold on to.

Peter faltered. Of course, he’d come here because it was his childhood home. But would it make any sense to go inside? Surely the inside had changed as much as London had, if not more. How would John even explain who he was? What would he _say_ to those children, or to John’s wife, due home sometime in the evening?

“We have a train to catch not long from now, I’m afraid,” James said. It wasn’t _exactly_ true; there was plenty of time for the train.

Peter accepted this rescue, somewhat surprisingly. He straightened up. “Yes. We have to go home.”

John was visibly frazzled by that, as much as by anything about this interaction.

“Well. You should...you should come back. At Christmas. Or whenever you like, really. Michael would love to see you. And Margaret, my wife, she…” He trailed off, not sure what else to say. Something was clearly bothering him, though the rules of polite interaction (rules that Peter had never obeyed properly in his life) made him hesitate.

Peter shrugged one shoulder, then crossed his arms. “Oh, well, we’ll see, I suppose,” he said, loftily, in a tone that he’d used to blow off Hook’s jabs for years in Neverland.

John recognised that tone as easily as James did, and he frowned. “Peter,” he said, not tripping over a name Peter had never wanted this time, “where on earth have you _been_? You look the same as the last time I saw you, as if you haven’t aged a day.”

Peter laughed, letting a familiar cruel edge back into it. He didn’t push his voice too low anymore when he spoke again, but the effect was obvious. “Peter Pan doesn’t age,” he answered.

John stared at him for a long minute.

Finally, he cleared his throat and looked back towards the house. “I...I need to check on the children. They’ll have so many questions, you see.” He turned toward the gate, but thought better of it and looked at Peter again. “I’m sorry. You have to know that. I’ve always been sorry.”

Peter shook his head. “Don’t,” he said, simply.

John nodded, once. “I meant it. Come back and see us. I’ll make something up about who you are, if you like. I’ll tell Michael to go along with it. He’s always been good at catching on to your stories, just...please, Peter. Don’t leave for so long again.”

James caught Peter’s breath hitch, because he’d heard it happen before. Still, the young man’s voice was clear when he spoke, “All right, John. I’ll come back.”

John seemed satisfied with that. He looked back up at James, his expression thoughtful and serious. James thought that even if he hadn’t recognised this man as Peter’s brother, he’d have recognised him from Peter’s imagination. How many of them had Peter’s mind based on his brothers, in the end? How many times had Hook and the other dangers of Neverland murdered boys with a face so like this one must have been in younger days?

“Will you take care of him, Captain?” John asked, barely above a whisper.

James felt Hook’s lazy smirk slide onto his face. “Only if he lets me,” he responded.

Peter clicked his tongue. “I don’t need either of you to _take care_ of me,” he scolded.

A noise like something falling came from inside the house, and John’s attention turned back towards it, and the children still inside.

He offered a hand to Peter. Peter stared at it as if it might bite him for a long moment before he finally took it. John put his other hand over Peter’s, grasping his brother’s hand there between his own much bigger ones.

“I have missed you. Write me a letter, will you?”

Peter smiled. “I’ll write you a story, instead,” he responded.

John’s face broke into a full grin at that, and Peter’s own face mirrored it, unable to resist. John let him go, then, and went back into the house without saying goodbye.

James and Peter watched him go. Peter stood there, frozen, hand still hanging in the air where John had held it.

A dog barked down the street, and the weirdness of the moment shifted back into whatever normalcy they could achieve, knowing it had been more than a decade since Peter had run away back to Neverland.

Peter dropped his hand, but James reached to catch it before it fell.

Peter looked up at him. Uncharacteristically, he let his fingers twine with James’s and pulled the older man close to him, into an embrace. James indulged him, proper or not, and stood holding him there on the street for a long time.

Finally, Peter extracted himself from James’s embrace. His eyes were shining with tears that he stubbornly refused to let fall. 

“Let’s go home,” Peter said, back to just Peter.

“All right,” James said, back to just James.

They turned and walked back the way they’d come, neither of them looking back.


End file.
